The Bad Boy's Baby (Hope Springs) Read online

  Mom just let him talk to her like that, and Emma could see that every time he said something harsh, it stripped away a little more of her self-esteem. It hadn’t exactly made Emma feel great about herself, either.

  “Hey,” Cam had said, turning fully toward her. “It’s Emma, right?”

  She’d nodded.

  “You were in a few of my classes, and you always had all the answers. Do you still?”

  The fact that he was staring at her, his gaze slowly moving over her body, made her heart skip a couple of beats. She’d crushed on him so hard in school, the bad boy she should know better than to want. She’d always thought he had a rough exterior but a deep soul. Whatever that meant. She gestured to the heavy-on-the-vodka drink she’d asked for and attempted a flirty grin, telling herself she wasn’t boring. She had on red lipstick and a short skirt, dang it, and Cam Brantley had noticed.

  “I do,” she said, then she asked Seth Jr. to pour Cam a shot—and to put it on her tab, telling herself it was such a nonboring, ballsy move.

  “You do,” he said, reaching for the tiny glass she slid his way. She got a little lost in the motion when he tipped it to his full lips, and she wondered what those lips would feel like against hers.

  He slid the cup back toward Seth, asked him to refill it and pour Emma one, too—on his tab this time.

  As she’d passed the shot glass back to Cam, he wrapped his fingers around it, catching hers, too, and an electric current traveled up from their touch and settled in her chest. “What should we drink to?” he asked.

  “Oh, I…” Honestly, she’d planned on dumping the shot into her drink when he wasn’t looking and maybe only taking another sip or two, since she was already feeling buzzed. But then she realized that Carefree and Exciting Emma tipped back shots, no worrying about things like too drunk or hangovers. “To living in the moment.”

  Cam grinned. “I’ll definitely drink to that.” He clinked his cup against hers and they downed the shots.

  As soon as she blinked the stinging tears from her eyes, she leaned toward him, one arm on the bar, and flirted like she’d never flirted before. She couldn’t remember how many shots had followed. Only that she’d laughed a lot, and then Cam said something about getting out of there, taking her hand instead of waiting for an answer, and she’d blindly followed.

  Once they’d reached the nearly empty parking lot, he slid an arm around her waist, pulled her to him, and kissed her. The alcohol haze lifted a bit, every inch of her body coming alive as he worked magic with his lips, the soft brush of them followed by the stubble on his chin.

  She threw herself fully into the kiss, wrapping her arms around him and rolling her tongue over his. Somewhere along the way, they’d ended up in his truck. She protested his driving, because obviously they were way too drunk, and he’d tossed the keys to the floor, saying he didn’t plan on going anywhere for a while. Then he brushed his fingertips across her collarbone, eliciting a shiver and spreading goose bumps across her skin.

  Another protest about making out in the truck was on the tip of her tongue, but they were in the back corner, where the tree branches hung down and created fair cover, and his windows were tinted black.

  Then he kissed her again, like it was the end of the world and he planned on making every last second count.

  Parts of the night were so fuzzy and parts were so sharp.

  She distinctly remembered his ripped torso and running her fingers across his pecs and abs, awed at the way the muscles dipped and curved. She’d also traced the tattoo on his chest, although she couldn’t recall what it was now, only that it stood out from the ones on his arms. She definitely remembered when he’d slid his hands up her thighs. She even remembered the sex that followed, blips of kisses and his name on her lips. But she couldn’t for the life of her remember the condom, although she’d sworn he’d pulled one out at one point.

  With that last memory—or missing memory, as it were—her eyes popped open and she was transported from his truck and the past into her messy living room, the TV currently playing a show no one was watching.

  He said he didn’t want a kid—he couldn’t have been any clearer about it.

  Still, right after she found out she was pregnant, she’d googled how to find military members’ email addresses. One site said there was a standard format for the army using the first name and last name, but that if there were more than one person with the same name, there’d be numbers added. Hoping he was the only one with the name, she’d sent an email to test the waters that said, “Hi, this is Emma Walker from Hope Springs. Are you the Cameron Brantley from there?”

  But it’d bounced back, message undeliverable, and without knowing things like his unit or regiment, finding his real email address without involving a lot of people—including contacting the Department of Defense—was impossible.

  For a couple of months, she’d left it alone. But halfway through her pregnancy, when everyone was asking about the father and she’d blurted out he didn’t want to be involved so please stop asking, she’d experienced another bout of guilt, even as she’d told herself it was true.

  So she’d sucked it up and decided to ask his father, despite being scared of the guy. A bad reputation was one thing, but she’d witnessed a few of Rod Brantley’s drunken disturbances firsthand. She went into his auto repair shop, thinking it’d be a safe place to approach him. He was yelling at one of his employees about a mistake he’d made on a car, his face red with anger, and she’d panicked and fled.

  Then she asked herself why she was trying so hard to contact a guy who didn’t want a kid in the first place.

  It was easy to think she’d done him a favor by not telling him, because he didn’t want kids and she didn’t want to experience what her mother had, a guy telling her how much he regretted being with her. How much he resented having to deal with a kid—which was also something she felt very strongly about protecting Zoey from.

  While Cam’s opinion on having kids probably hadn’t changed, there was a big difference between telling herself he’d moved on and was pretty much unreachable so she was justified in never telling him, and seeing him every day and holding it back.

  She tried to convince herself that it’d be selfish to tell him just to rid herself of guilt, but it became painfully clear that he had a right to know…

  And she was going to have to find a way to tell him.

  Chapter Three

  This was the moment Cam had been looking forward to least. The closer he, Heath, and Quinn got to his childhood home, the tighter his nerves stretched.

  To calm himself, his mind searched for a serene image. Over the years, he’d often imagined sitting at the edge of a clear blue lake, complete with mountain backdrop, to control his temper and keep the bad memories away.

  But the image that popped into his head now had nothing to do with nature. No, this one belonged to a woman who had brown eyes, a warm laugh, and had said that she could “screw and bang with the best of them.”

  He bit back a grin. He’d wanted to talk to her more, but she’d kept to the outskirts this afternoon, and every time he’d moved into her orbit, she’d gone off on another job, into another cabin, that Pete guy who’d interrupted them earlier in the day trailing after her.

  Cam didn’t care if they were together—well, he shouldn’t care. Ever since he’d seen Emma, though, he couldn’t stop thinking about her lips and the way she’d kissed him all those years ago. She’d surprised him, and he was so rarely surprised by people.

  Just forget about it, Brantley. She’s out of your league, even if she was drunk enough one night to forget it, and it’s not like you’re looking for a relationship anyway.

  Because relationships required trust, and all the ones he’d been in only proved women always had another agenda. There was a lot of trying to manipulate feelings involved, not to mention the trap questions that led to fights, and after the last one, he’d pretty much given up ever having another.

&nb
sp; He trusted his gut, his brother, and his platoon—more specifically, the other nine soldiers who’d been in his squad.

  Nine, until that last mission. Now there were only eight of them left, and seven with him gone… Cam pushed away those thoughts and concentrated on the reason he’d started this line of thinking in the first place.

  Sure, Emma seemed like the trustworthy type, but that didn’t change his stance on relationships, and he had other things to focus on. Get the lodge running, along with the hiking and hunting tours, and escape to the mountains as often as possible—those were the main goals. Well, and ensure Mountain Ridge was successful enough that he and his brother could make a living. While the army had given him a place to channel his anger, he’d lost a bit of himself with each mission, and the last one had made him question everything, including whether his squad was better off without him.

  While he knew he’d never get back to the person he used to be, he wanted to get back to someone who didn’t always think about exit strategies or how many ways he could kill a possible threat.

  Like right now, with the truck pulling up in front of the run-down three-bedroom bungalow where he’d grown up, the urge to bolt consumed him. Open door, tuck and roll, run down the street. As an exit strategy, not too complicated, but those always worked the best, unless enemy gunfire was involved.

  Judging from the look Heath gave him across the cab, he understood. “Dad really is doing pretty well. He’s trying, Cam.”

  “Is he still drinking?”

  Heath’s hesitation said everything.

  “He’s trying to cut back,” Quinn said. Then she turned to Heath. “Does he know about…?”

  Great. More crap to face? Cam’s nerves stretched that much tighter, seconds from snapping.

  “He’s trying to make it work with Oliver’s mom, too,” Heath said.

  “The stripper who’s half his age?”

  “She’s not a stripper anymore,” Heath said, like that made it so much better.

  “Can’t we just stay at the lodge and pretend our father doesn’t live in the same town?”

  Quinn put her hand on Cam’s arm. “He’s been talking about you coming home for weeks. He’s been so excited about it, and like Heath said, he really is trying to get his life back in order and make amends.”

  “He likes Quinn, too. She doesn’t put up with his crap, and I honestly think our relationship is what gave him the push he needed to try to change.” Heath opened his door, tugging Quinn out with him.

  His brother’s happiness made him happy, but Cam was pretty sure it also made Heath overly optimistic. Cam got a kick out of Quinn, too. She was this tiny firecracker whose swearing rivaled some of the guys he’d served with, and she said whatever thought popped into her head. Working together was going to be fun, which was good, because Heath would be hitting the road with his band, Dixie Rush, to promote their album’s release before too long, and then it’d be the two of them trying to keep things running—he hoped they’d be busy enough to make it a challenge, too. He needed challenging and busy.

  What he didn’t need was to lose the bit of calm he’d managed to obtain since he’d arrived in Hope Springs, and he was afraid tonight might just undo it all.

  With a sigh, he pushed out of the truck. This house, his dad—they were the main reasons he’d jumped at deployment after deployment and volunteered to be stationed in another country.

  As soon as his father opened the door, Cam was transported back in time, to the days before he’d been big enough to stand up for himself. It was another reason he’d been so angry when he’d found out Dad had another kid. Cam had worked so hard to keep Heath protected from Dad’s temper and drunken rage episodes, and it’d been such a relief once both of them were big enough to take being cussed out and told how useless they were and push back if he turned violent. Or the always fun days when they needed to be strong enough to carry his drunk ass out of the Triple S after he drank too much and started yet another fight there.

  By the time he found out about Oliver, though, Cam had already committed himself to the army, and he felt guilty over how relieved he’d been to have an excuse to get him out of raising another kid, the way he’d pretty much raised Heath after Mom left them alone to deal with Dad.

  A mom who’d abandoned her kids, a drunk and disorderly dad, and two boys who were forever in trouble, whether they’d committed the crimes or not—that was the Brantley family legacy in this town.

  Hopefully the lodge will help change that, too.

  Dad wrapped his arms around Cam and hugged him, patting him hard on the back. Cam knew he should say something about being glad to see him, but he couldn’t muster up the lie. He’d spent most of his life resenting him, and time away hadn’t magically fixed it.

  “Cam!” Oliver ran into the room, his shoelaces flying behind him. He held his hand up for a high five and Cam smacked his palm. He barely knew his half brother, but the kid always greeted him like he was some kind of rock star.

  “Hey, Ollie.” In every email the kid sent, it was questions about the military, from type of guns to vehicles to missions, or baseball. Cam chose the safer subject. “How’s baseball?”

  Oliver launched into an overly detailed account of his last baseball game, then explained that he was trying out basketball now, but he didn’t like it much. His mom, Sheena, came into the room, they exchanged slightly awkward hellos, then they all sat around the table to eat takeout fried chicken, a weird mesh of a family.

  Afterward, Dad cornered Cam. “Glad to have you back, son.”

  “I’m happy to be back and working on the lodge.”

  “Well, I hope you boys find enough customers to keep the place running, but if you don’t, you’ll always have a job at the auto shop. I always figured my sons would take it over.”

  While he’d never minded mechanic work, the garage was just one more place where he’d heard that he wasn’t doing anything right and had to suffer from Dad’s temper. “You might as well sell the place once you decide to retire. If the lodge thing doesn’t work out, I won’t be sticking around.” Cam turned to escape the kitchen.

  “Son,” Dad said, catching his arm. “Look, I’ve already talked to Heath and apologized for screwing up when it came to you two. I tried to push you so you’d have a better life than me, but I know now that I pushed too hard.”

  Cam eyed Dad’s hand—the one that’d caught him this same way dozens of times before the yelling started, and Dad let go, a smart move on his part.

  “I didn’t know what I was doing, and once your mom left…” Dad rubbed the back of his neck. “Despite me, you turned out real good. I’m proud of you—of both you boys.”

  “Pride’s nice and all, but I’m not sure if it’s enough to make up for all the pushing.” Cam remembered having bruises from the pushing that was a lot more like being thrown around. Dad didn’t always get violent when he drank, but the bad nights were especially bad, and whenever he got like that, Cam would sometimes egg him on, just so he’d focus on him and leave Heath alone.

  His biggest fear, one that he kept to himself, was that the fact he’d enjoyed most of his missions and took pride at how good he was at taking out the enemy meant he had that same tendency toward violence. That last mission probably proved his fears, too, although he hadn’t enjoyed it, especially not the price his men had paid.

  The antsy sensation took over again, and the need for air overwhelmed him. “Dinner was nice. Sheena seems nice enough, too, but do us all a favor and wear a condom,” Cam said. “The last thing you need is another kid to screw up.”

  Chapter Four

  At the end of the day, Cam wiped his brow with his forearm and then made his way over to the cabin he’d seen Emma disappear into. Yesterday he’d thought she might be avoiding him. Today there was no thinking about it—he’d raised his hand in a wave and she’d ducked her head and rushed away.

  All he wanted to do was let her know that he was willing to forget the past an
d never speak of it again so they could work together without things turning awkward. That was it.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true, because he couldn’t forget their past—and he didn’t want to—but he could refrain from talking about it.

  Despite the fact that he’d perfected moving noiselessly, he stepped hard on each porch step, announcing his arrival so he wouldn’t scare her again. He even knocked on the open door before stepping inside.

  Emma sat in the center of the room, stacks of paper spread all around her. Her brown waves were pulled into a ponytail, with a few loose strands framing her face. The end of the pen tapped her mouth, drawing his attention to the full bottom lip, and a swirl of lust tumbled through him.

  He remembered sucking on that lip, and the way she’d responded, arching her hips into his, and he found himself craving another nip. Which made him forget the reason he’d come in here in the first place.

  “Paperwork,” she said, unfolding her legs and pushing to her feet. “It never ends.”

  “You’d rather be…how’d you put it? Banging and screwing with the best of them?”

  She laughed and brought her hand up to her forehead. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I’m so glad that I made such a good impression about my construction skills.”

  “Right.” He flashed her a smile. “Construction. And Quinn and Heath tell me that you designed the cabins, too. I’m impressed.”

  Her face lit up. “Thanks. I’m rather proud of them. It’s easy to be inspired when the cabins are going up in such a beautiful place. I’ve always thought this was one of the prettiest spots in Hope Springs, and I wanted the buildings to fit in with the natural beauty, not detract from it. And I wanted every cabin to have a spectacular view and give people that feeling of escaping the world. If I did my job right, they’ll be planning their next trip here before they even leave.”